The Essential P. K. Page

by P.K. Page, Arlene Lampert (Selections), Thea Gray (Selected by)

P. K. Page needs no introduction. This is a poet who writes in many genres and on an infinite number of subjects. The source of her poetry is always love - whether in vivid portraits of her inner and outer landscapes; startling insights into the past, the present, the future; illumination of some tiny detail of ordinary life; or admonishments for our neglect of the earth and of each other. Page is an alchemist who turns language into pure gold, a magician who dazzles with sleight of mind. "The Essential P. K. Page" is perceptive, elegant, romantic (yet never sentimental), sometimes downright funny, wholly conscious.

Genres: Poetry, Canada

64 pages, Paperback

First published September 1, 2008

About the author

Patricia Kathleen Page, CC, OBC, FRSC, commonly known as P. K. Page, was a Canadian poet. She was born in Swanage, Dorset, England and moved with her family to Canada in 1919. She spent the last years of her life in Victoria, British Columbia. P.K. Page was an author of many published books of poetry, fiction, travel diaries, essays and children's books. Her poems were translated into other languages. By special resolution of the United Nations, in 2001 her poem Planet Earth was read simultaneously in New York, the Antarctic and the South Pacific to celebrate the International Year of Dialogue Among Civilizations.

She was also known as a visual artist, having exhibited her work at a number of venues in and out of Canada. Her works are in permanent collections of National Gallery of Canada and Art Gallery of Ontario.

Reviews

[Abigail · Rating 3 out of 5]

Lowkey just read this short collection of poems because Goodreads told me I’m already 2 books behind schedule 💀

[M.W.P.M. · Rating 4 out of 5]

1.

And at the moment of death
what is correct procedure?

Cut the umbilical, they said.

And with the umbilical cut
how then prepare the body?

Wash it in sacred water.
Dress it in silk for the wedding.


2.

I wash and iron for you
your final clothes
(my hear on your sleeve)
wishing to wash your flesh
wishing to close
your sightless eyes

nothing remains to do

I am a vacant house

- And about Death, pg. 17

* * *

1.

I lay beside you
soft and white as dough
put by to rise

I rose and rose and rose


2.

We sounded e
above high c
the note
broke all my crystal
in a flash
smashed your plate glass


3.

My body flowers
in blossom
that will fall
petal by petal
all the days of my life

- Beside You, pg. 24

* * *

I have been coming here since I was born
never at my will
only when it permits me

Like the Bodleian like the Web
like Borges's aleph
it embodies all

It is in a house
deeply hidden in my head
It is mine and notmine

yet if I seek it
it recedes
down corridors of ether

Each single version
is like and unlike
all the others

a hidden place
in cellar or attic
matrix of evil and good

a room
disguised as a non-room
a secret place

I am showing it to you
fearful you may not
guess its importance

that you will see only
a lumber room
a child's bolt-hole

Will not know it as prism
a magic square
the number nine

- The Hidden Room, pg. 34-35

* * *

All the molecules in the house
readjust on its arrival,
make way for its shining presence
its bright dials,
and after it has settled
and the light
has explored its surfaces
- and the night -
they compose themselves again
in another order.

One sense the change at once
without knowing what one senses.
Has somebody cleaned the windows
used different soap
or is there a bowl of flowers
on the mantelpiece? -
for the air makes another shape
it is thinner or denser,
a new design
is invisibly stamped upon it.

How we all adapt ourselves
to the bicycle
aglow in the furnace room,
turquoise where turquoise
has never before been seen,
its chrome gleaming
on gears and pedals,
its spokes glistening.
Lightly resting on the incised
rubber of its airy tires
it has changed us all.

- The New Bicycle, pg. 44

* * *

The wax has meted
but the dream of flight
persists.
I, Icarus, though grounded
in my flesh
have one bright section in me
where a bird
night after starry night
while I'm asleep
unfolds its phantom wings
and practises.

- The Heavy Craft, pg. 56

[piratesPencil · Rating 4 out of 5]

I first heard Page’s poetry being read by her on an old vinyl recording of literary performances, and instantly fell in love with her writing. While not every poem in this collection sparked my fancy, I did enjoy a lot of them, especially the very brief ones that conjure such clear and lovely images - A Backwards Journey, Ecology, The New Bicycle, Stargazer, Stefan, and Winter Morning are some of my favourites.

[A · Rating 4 out of 5]

Strong poet, nice variety of poems. At times the subject matter didn't appeal to me but that doesn't detract from her strength as a poet.

[Andrea Taylor · Rating 5 out of 5]

I have to get this book! The poems in here are absolutely amazing. P.K. Page was a talented and inspiring woman. These poems make poetry seem effortless. If you love pooetry this is a keeper!